


The Terrorist and The Spy

by BleuWaters



Category: Gintama
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuWaters/pseuds/BleuWaters
Summary: Katsura Kotaro, Koutarou, or Kotarou x reader. I honestly don't know how to summarize this except that it is not like any of my typical one-shots. Be warned. Enjoy ;D





	The Terrorist and The Spy

“Excuse me, sir.” Your gentle voice catches the young man's attention and you smile. “Would you like to purchase a bottle of cologne? Perhaps some perfume for your beloved?”

 

“I don't have one.”

 

“Cologne, then.”

 

“No, thank you,” he says from beneath his sandogasa, and he walks away, not missing a step.

 

“All right.”

 

The next day, he passes again.

 

“Excuse me, sir.” You smile brightly when he looks to you and pauses. “Would you like to buy a candle? I'm certain you could find one you like.”

 

“No, thank you,” he says again, and with a nod of general thanks, he walks off again.

 

The third day he walks past, you offer him soap. All of your merchandise is handmade either by you or by somebody you buy from in small batches.

 

The fourth day, you offer a sample of the most mouth-wateringly delicious jam, smooth and tart and just sweet enough, but he can't be persuaded to buy a jar.

 

The fifth day, you advertise a buy-one-get-one sale for greeting cards. He shakes his head and continues on.

 

The sixth day, you try to lure him in with the smell of fresh popcorn. Doesn't work.

 

On the seventh day...you don't see him. Because you take a day off every week. It's hard to work all the time, and you certainly wish you could share the strain with someone.

 

The day after that, you ask him if he would be interested in a barbeque set. He says no. You laugh and say, “Good, ‘cause I don't actually have one.”

 

This goes on for a long time. Months. How many? Twelve.

 

A full year.

 

That's how long you've been trying to get him to come into your store so you could get to know him.

 

Then, finally, one day during a long, vicious storm, he agrees to step inside. The city was shocked by the weather; some claim it’s a small hurricane. Others say it's something fabricated by the Amanto. Either way, it is big, and trashed the city, covering the streets with broken branches and flyaway garbage.

 

“You're soaked!” you exclaim, smiling slightly, “I have a blanket in the back room; how about you shake off your haori and hang it by the fireplace?”

 

“All right,” he replies.

 

This man. Gosh.

 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” you ask, draping the warm blanket over his shoulders.

 

“Okay.”

 

“I'm afraid I only have herbal. It's delicious, though; I think you'll like it,” you say, “But I'll get you a towel for all that wet hair. Heavens, what a storm.”

 

“It is. What do you think about it?” he asks, pulling his wet hair over his shoulder.

 

“I think it's the largest storm I've ever seen,” you reply.

 

“What do you think caused it?”

 

“Why...do you believe the Amanto are behind it?”

 

“You think they aren't?”

 

You smile faintly. “Dunno,” you say, turning to get the water heating on your small gas burner.

 

“I think it's going to get bigger,” says your acquaintance, rubbing his head with the pale blue towel vigorously.

 

“Oh? How?”

 

“A tsunami.”

 

“A tsunami!?” You frown. “How would they do that!?”

 

“I don't know. But they will.”

 

“You sure have some interesting viewpoints,” you say softly, “Which isn't a bad thing! It's just uncommon.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, then you speak.

 

“Katsura-san, what do you do for work?”

 

“...I am a...protester of sorts,” he says slowly, very carefully, and he avoids eye contact though your own gaze bores holes into his skull.

 

“Protester of what?” you ask softly.

 

“The Amanto. The government,” he answers, sliding his fingers into the roots of his hair and pushing it back, away from his face, “Tell me something about you.”

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“What's your story? There's something different about you, something not like the other vendors and store owners. What is it?”

 

You smile slightly and look down at the steaming kettle that's just about to whistle. “I have a past that takes trust...and friendship to share. I'm afraid we're only acquaintances, Katsura-san.”

 

“That we are, (surname)-dono. Forgive my impertinence,” says Katsura, ducking into a small bow. You blush brightly at his etiquette and shake your head.

 

“I-I've been trying to get to know you, y'know. Inviting you in, offering you samples (that, frankly, I can't afford…). I have wanted to know you. Now we have a chance and, if you've no place to be, neither have I. We can enjoy our tea, and have something to eat. I'm sure I have the makings of a bowl of soba.”

 

“I can't impose on you like that…”

 

“Honestly, I wish you would. Like I said, I want to get to know you. You pass my shop every day; it's intriguing,” you say, growing quiet. To be truthful, you've developed something of a crush on this man. He's handsome, very intriguing, and seems quite capable. He's immaculately dressed every day; that's something worth noting. A tidy man is admirable. A tidy anyone is admirable.

 

“All right then,” he says, and you give him a cup of tea.

 

“Wonderful. Now...I have to ask. What made you come in this time? There have been other storms other days, so why today?”

 

Katsura’s lips twitch in a flicker of a smile as he looks into his tea.

 

“I wanted to get to know you, too.”

 

~o0o~

 

Two and a half hours later, you smile at your company as he finishes off his bowl of soba.

 

“Katsura-san, may I ask you a question?”

 

“You've been asking me questions all day.”

 

You huff a small laugh. “I guess so. Um...if you believe that a tsunami is going to hit, why aren't you leaving the city?”

 

Katsura frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth very pointedly turning down. “What's the point in leaving if it's only to save myself?”

 

You ponder this for a moment. “Well...that's a melancholic viewpoint,” you say, folding your hands in your lap, “It sort of leads to the question of your family.”

 

“What about my family?”

 

“Who’s in it?”

 

“I had a mother and father, and a grandmother. They've all passed away.”

 

“Oh...oh, Katsura-san, I'm sorry.”

 

“What about yours?”

 

You shake your head. “I don't have one, same as you. It's a lonely boat to be stuck in, isn't it?”

 

“At least we found one another,” replies Katsura, and he takes in a long breath, “(Surname)-san, would you leave town with me?”

 

“F-for the tsunami?”

 

“Mm.”

 

You try to bite back a smile, but you nod. “Okay. Is there time to grab a few things?”

 

“Sure; I'll help.”

 

“I'll take my most expensive merchandise and a couple personal things. You go ahead and get the merchandise. I'll get my stuff upstairs.” Your apartment is cozy sitting atop the shop. Once upstairs, you dial your boss.

 

See, this is the past you didn't tell Katsura-san about. The past you now wish you had never come to pass.

 

You're a spy, working for the Amanto. And Katsura is your assignment. Gather information about his plans and dispose of him after.

 

Personally, that mission changed six months ago when you realized you cared for him. Quietly, you rebelled in your own way. Not much of a rebellion, seeing as you never got any information to hand out, but in your mind, it was a rebellion, nonetheless.

 

“Agent (fav. color), I'm so glad you've taken the time to call me,” says your boss, Kintsugi, his voice nasally but threatening, as usual, “Have you any information this time, or is this a social call?”

 

You snort. “Don't flatter yourself,” you hiss, “He suspects our objective. And he's right on time. So on time that we might have a mole leaking plans.”

 

“A what doing what?”

 

What an idiot, you think to yourself. One of the perks of being a spy is using the cool jargon.

 

“There could be an enemy spy in our operation, giving out info,” you explain, “I have to go; time's ticking.” You hang up without another word from either of you.

 

After grabbing a small backpack with Western socks, underwear, and a handful of inherited jewelry, you return to the shop floor.

 

“I guess I don't know how to prepare for a tsunami,” you say, offering a quiet chuckle, “But I have my things.”

 

Katsura looks up from a large duffel bag full of store merchandise; stuff that you wouldn't have thought to grab for any reason.

 

“I think it'll be a comfort to have familiar fragrances and foods until we can get your shop back on its feet,” explains the man, gently placing a candle on a tin of tea.

 

“Okay,” you nod, “K...Katsura-san?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why are you taking care of me like this?”

 

“Because I'm selfish,” replies Katsura, and you frown slightly, tipping your head to the side, “I'm very fond of you. I would like to know you better and get closer to you.”

 

You flush and grin, flattered and embarrassed and very pleased. “If that's all it takes to be selfish, I must be selfish, too,” you say, picking your (fav. color) parasol up from behind the front desk, “I think we could give this a shot.”

 

Katsura gives a small smile and shoulders the duffel bag, then the two of you leave.

 

~o0o~

 

The tsunami happened as planned, devastating the city and wiping people out by the hundreds. You regret ever being a part of it, and the pain of the city, you know, is partially on you. You played your part and didn't run around like a true rebel warning people.

 

Walking through the wreckage beside Katsura, three weeks after it happened, you break down and begin to sob. Katsura pulls you into him and you wrap your arms around him, your body heaving in your sorrow. Never again, you promised yourself, would you become a monster like those that invaded Earth.

 

“I'm sorry,” you gasp, “I'm sorry, Katsura. I've lied to you. I knew this would happen.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, tenderly tucking a strand if (h/c) hair behind your ear. The two of you have yet to become a couple, but you both know it's inevitable. You're just taking your time.

 

“I work for the Amanto.” The admission was that of heavy guilt, barely audible in your shame. But it was loud enough. So loud, so deafening, that Katsura recoiled as if he had been burned by your breath against his neck. He pushes you away, staring, horrified, as if you've grown another head.

 

“What?”

 

“I work for the Amanto!” you cry, “I'm sorry, Katsura-san, I am. I should've told you sooner.”

 

“It wouldn't have mattered,” he says quietly and, through your tears, you can see him struggling to sort this out.

 

“I'm backing out of it, though,” you say hastily, “I'm quitting.”

 

“They won't let you quit.”

 

“Then I'll be a fugitive. They're wrong. I may be breaking the law, but I'm not wrong.”

 

“Impossible.”

 

“Why? Why is it impossible?” you demand.

 

“Because it's dangerous! You're a technical spy, not a combative one.”

 

“Then teach me!!”

 

Katsura frowns. “I can't drag you into this life.”

 

“You'd rather leave me as a spy? And let me spy for the side you have spent ages to destroy? All that effort for, what? Nothing? To fight directly against me?”

 

“Don't use that argument,” warns Katsura, but he knows that you're right, “I'll teach you. It's difficult. It's difficult to stay in one city when you're wanted.”

 

“If you can do it, so can I,” you say, quickly swiping your tears away and standing up straight, squaring your shoulders and setting your jaw.

 

Katsura sighs, defeated. “Of course you can,” he whispers, and he hugs you firmly before announcing that you'll start training tonight.

 

~o0o~

 

Frankly, you're no good at fighting. It's just not your thing. Katsura decides not to mind, and the two of you travel to the outskirts of town to find a noodle cart that's open. Soba is your only option, but both of you like it, and order your favorites.

 

“I'm still pretty shaken about your secret,” says Katsura, and you sigh.

 

“Understandably,” you say, “Y'know, you don't seem like the terrorist type. At least, you don't look it.”

 

“I'm a protester.”

 

“That plants bombs.”

 

“...Touché.”

 

“Well.” You clear your throat. “We both have our issues to resolve, right? Just how it goes.”

 

“As with every relationship.”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

His nose brushes against your hairline and his lips press to your temple. “I think you're cute,” he whispers, “I like the complications if it means we can spend more time together.”

 

“It's like we weren't just talking about terrorism and spying,” you reply, and your face grows warm. This is it. You're dating Katsura. With his breath caressing your cheek, you gulp. You can feel his smile.

 

“It's just work,” he says, giving you your space back. He subconsciously bites his lower lip and you positively squirm with embarrassment. Everything within you screams ‘fangirl!!’

 

“Right. Just work. Careers,” you say, offering a small smile, “Well, I'm finished…Shall we?”

 

“Mm.” Katsura nods, and the two of you leave the cart. You slide your hand into his and he gives a firm, fond squeeze.

 

The dark night sky sparkles with stars, and the moon shines brightly, illuminating the night, soaking the world in silver.

 

“What a mess this relationship will be,” you say, amused, “A terrorist and a spy. Straight out of a movie. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

 

“That means that we'll have the romance of the century,” laughs Katsura, and you blush, happy to see him feel open around you.

 

“That sounds wonderful,” you whisper.

 

Except that pasts will come back to haunt you; they always do.

 

For this romance, they came quickly.

 

They came in the form of a ninja with wakizashi. He was swift and efficient, and plunged one of the blades into Katsura’s side, up under his ribcage and into his lung.

 

Screaming in horror and shock, you fall to your knees with him in your arms, and a shaking hand presses to his wound, the weapon still buried deep within him. It nicks the tender skin between your thumb and forefinger, but you ignore the sting.

 

“Katsura…” you whisper, tears streaking your cheeks as he coughs, and blood gurgles in his throat. He gasps shallowly, a collapsed lung preventing him from getting the oxygen he needs. “Someone call an ambulance!!” Your shriek rips through the still night and echoes off the crumbling buildings. Katsura grabs at your arm and you look down at him. He shakes his head, sliding his fingers to your cheek.

 

“It's not Katsura. It's Kotaro,” he wheezes, and he coughs again, his face twisting with pain, “And it's not your fault. I've had it coming.”

 

“No. No, don't say that,” you say, your voice remarkably steady, “You're going to be okay. Someone's going to rescue us and take care of you.”

 

You lean over him and press a soft kiss to his trembling lips. They're white as paper and painted red at the corners. He tastes of copper.

 

“Someone's coming for you,” you insist, “We'll hear a siren any moment.”

 

He gives a faint nod, his eyes wandering listlessly. You slide your hand beneath his head, which rocks slightly, uneasily.

 

“I love you,” he breathes, and you choke on a sob, “...long time, now…”

 

“I love you, too,” you say, kissing him again, “I really do. You can't go now. Romance of a lifetime, remember?” You kiss him again, and press your forehead to his. The edge of his mouth twitches upward softly, and his eyes lose focus on you. He takes a breath, another, and his eyes close, and he stills.

 

The paramedics pry you off of him when they come, and you put up such a fight that they sedate you so they can focus on him. Tears slide silently down your cheeks as consciousness gives out, and the last thing you see is Katsura’s body jerking as they attempt to revive him.

 

~o0o~

 

“Oh, you're up?”

 

Dazed and headachey, you look around the room. An itchy IV needle is stuck in your arm, and a pulse monitor is clamped over your finger. Your other hand is bandaged.

 

Sitting beside you is a man you've never met, with bored-looking eyes and silvery hair.

 

“Katsura…”

 

“He's in surgery,” replies the man, “They got his heart beating in the ambulance, but they said it's pretty bad and he's touch-and-go. Good thing I heard you.”

 

“Oh, thank you,” you say, faintly noticing that you're thirsty, “Thank you.”

 

He shrugs. “Eh, anything for a friend,” he says, sticking his pinky up his nose, “I've known Zura for a long time.”

 

“Zura?”

 

“Nickname.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So how do you know him? Did he try to blow you up?”

 

“No...He walked by my shop every day. Day of the tsunami, he came in to dry off and...we kind of...clicked,” you say, and the finger with the monitor on it taps against your thigh.

 

“Zura? Clicked? Ha, that's a new one,” says the stranger, “Guy is like oil in the social pool.”

 

“I never noticed,” you murmur.

 

“Yeah, ya got that lovestruck look,” he says, “Want some ice cream?”

 

“I would love some.”

 

Katsura pulls through with minor complications, and you got away with five stitches. The two of you decide to never go out without a weapon, especially on a date.


End file.
